The Little Red Bandana
by Miss-Lion
Summary: Chelsea, being her usual oblivious self, goes along her daily routine encountering each of her six admirers. A six-part story comprised of slightly fluffy one-shots of all of the eligible Bachelors in HM:IoH. Rated T for Denny's possible language.
1. Sammies n' Juice

Disclaimer: I do not own Harvest Moon: Island of Happiness. Natsume does. I wish I did own such an amazing thing, but I don't.

Author's Notes: This is meant to be a full story comprised of six one-shots, one for each bachelor that you can marry in the game. Therefore, you are able to read whichever respective one-shot you wish without reading the story in it's entirety. But in the end, it all ties together, so it's something that you don't want to miss. Though I must admit, I may end up making an alternate ending, so watch out for that.

Rated T for Teen, possibly for Denny's chapter. I'm not so sure if I'm going to make him swear or not.

* * *

"Have you seen Chelsea today?"

Fumbling with the money in his hands, Mark's eyes darted over to a table occupied by a pair of women crooning over cups of tea.

"No, she usually stops by in the morning to speak with Taro." Felicia rested a finger on her chin, gazing vaguely up at the ceiling in thought. "She follows his weather premonitions like her ranch depends on it."

"Dear, that's awfully strange..." Mirabelle said, taking a sip from her porcelain teacup as the woman across from her took a bite of a small wedge of sponge cake.

"Excuse me, son," the owner of the cafe said in a syrupy-sweet voice. Mark flinched, dropping his change on the counter.

"S-sorry, Ma'am... Here." He gave the older woman a weary glance as he finished paying for a bag of sandwiches and juice. She merely shook her head while taking his money, 'tsk-ing as she turned back towards her kitchen, shuffling behind the curtains.

He knew the way to her farm. At least, he thought he did. Standing in the middle of a four-way crossroads, he looked around. To the south, he felt the wisps of a faint sea-breeze, carrying the familiar salty smell of the ocean. To the west, he merely saw a wall of trees, blanketing the base of a large mountain. It wouldn't make any sense to have a ranch in the middle of a forest. To the east, the direction he had come from, the east side of town.

"Looks like it's north..." Mark muttered to himself, readjusting the straps to his rucksack on his shoulders anxiously. A small bead of sweat trickled down his neck teasingly. It was the end of summer, but it was still hot and humid. In weather like this, it would be easy for someone to overwork themselves. At that thought, he found his feet already carrying him north up the steady slope, leading to where he hoped that her farm was...

"Chelsea? _Chelsea!_" Mark dropped to his knees at a motionless lump in the tall grass of the rancher's field.

"Nnn..." The body muttered, shifting slightly. She was curled up on her side, the exposed skin of her arms and legs were red with sunburn.

"Chelsea... Are you okay?" Mark said softly, wrapping an arm loosely around her shoulder to steady her as she sat up. Yawning, she rubbed one eye, leaning against him wearily.

"Yeah... I just needed to... Sit down for a minute," Chelsea smiled faintly, making a move to stand. "Guess I fell asleep." Mark shook his head, using his arm to keep her firmly on the ground.

"Here," he said, shrugging the bag off of his shoulders. Grabbing it, he set it before him, tugging at it's buckle. "You need to eat, especially out here in this heat." Grabbing a sandwich and a bottle of juice, he shoved it in her hands. "Eat up. You're not working any more until you do."

"Bu--" she started, staring blankly at the food in her hands.

"It's okay, I'll help," Mark said looking down at her, smiling gently. He couldn't just leave her, he thought looking up across her field, noting about half of her summer crops were harvested. He flushed lightly. Besides, he admired Chelsea too much to deny the chance at working side by side with the reason he had traveled to this island.


	2. Burlap Sacks

Disclaimer: I do not own harvest Moon: Island of Happiness.

* * *

"My toe..." Taro grumbled, his walking stick clunking on the old wooden floor of the farmhouse as he paced. "My big toe's telling me it's gonna rain tomorrow..." Standing up straight, Elliot placed a large crate on top of a stool, emerging from behind a large stack of wooden crates.

"Oh, Elliot!" Taro said, thumping his walking stick on the floor, causing the young man to jump slightly.

"Hey Chelsea..." Pushing his glasses back up onto his nose, he smiled sheepishly, seeing who Taro had been talking to.

"Chelsea was just telling me that she was going to thresh and grind some wheat. You're not busy, why don't you go help her?" Taro eyed Elliot, raising a bushy eyebrow suggestively, holding back a smirk.

"Oh, it's okay, I can--" Chelsea started waving casually, before she was cut off by the old man again.

"Nonsense! Wheat is some messy business." Taro exclaimed, nudging the girl around with his stick towards the door. "Now shoo, the prosperity of this island rests on your shoulders, young lady."

"Alright..." Chelsea said, giving Elliot a curious look. He merely rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged, following her out.

"Heres the next one..." Elliot grunted, dumping a sack of threshed wheat into the gaping chute of a large flour mill. "Just three more," he sighed, tossing the empty sack into a pile with the others.

"Thanks Elliot, I couldn't have done this without you." Chelsea said, pulling a lever on the large machine to actuate the grinding motor.

"Don't men—" Elliot started before his voice was drowned out by the engine-like sound of the mechanical grinder. Visibly sweat-dropping, he crossed his arms and leaned against the machine, watching Chelsea, his thoughts wandering.

"Woah!" The mill jumped into overdrive, visibly shaking as the pitch of the machine increasing to a screeching whine. Chelsea yanked the machine's lever, powering down the mill. "What just happened?!" During the commotion, Elliot had jumped, tripped over a flour sack, falling into the pile of sacks tossed to the side.

"S-sorry..." he said, pulling a sack off of his scarlet face. "That was my fault, wasn't it...?" Sighing, he began to stand.

"Here, let me help," Chelsea said, offering her hand to him with a smile. Elliot looked up at her with a puzzled expression. On any other occasion he would have been scolded by his younger sister for his clumsiness and uselessness. Grasping her hand, he couldn't help but grin.

She wasn't his sister.

She's actually _nice_.

"There, no harm done." Chelsea brushed off her hands, peering at the mill. "Ah." Turning a dial, she chuckled, glancing at Elliot. "Next time you decide to lean on something, might wanna look out for any stray dials or switches." Elliot flushed embarrassedly, handing her the flour sack from his head.

"Yeah, nice..."


	3. Chapped

Disclaimer: I do not own Harvest Moon: Island of Happiness. Though I wish I owned one of their chickens, they're just too darn cute.

* * *

"We just got a new shipment of milkers in, you should take a look, Chelsea."

Vaughn blinked, the only visible reaction to the announcement of her presence. Keeping his head down, his hat covered his face as he scribbled numbers on a notepad.

"Really? I've been needing a new milker recently, my cows hate the old one I'm using now." Chelsea laughed stepping though the threshold after Julia, closing the door behind her. Vaughn's eyes flicked over in her direction before going back to his notes.

"Oh, hello there dear, in for your weekly fodder order?" Mirabelle dusted off her hands on her skirt, shuffling behind the counter. "Always on Wednesdays."

Chelsea smiled, leaning on the counter, "I hate it when I feed my cows old fodder. I wouldn't wanna eat sour smelling old grass if I was a cow."

"Always thinking of the cows," Julia shook her head smiling.

Vaughn coughed into his fist, flipping his notebook closed, shoving it into a pocket. Grabbing a new milker from a freshly opened crate, he set it on the counter with a thud and walked outside, closing the door behind him. Eyebrows furrowed, Chelsea stared a the closed door for a few moments before the ringing of the cash register woke her from her thoughts. Grabbing her rucksack from her shoulders, she paid Mirabelle quickly, nearly forgetting the milker in her haste. Shouting a quick farewell to the two women, she hurried outside.

"Took you long enough..." Chelsea turned. Vaughn was loading bales of fodder onto a wooden cart usually used for transporting crates and small animals to and from the beach. She stood, somewhat dumbstruck. Never had he bothered to even bat an eyelid at her on his own accord. Only when she addressed him first would he bother to utter a single-sentence response.

"Well?" He said simply, folding his arms across his chest as he stood, the cart fully loaded, Chelsea's horse already hooked up.

"Oh, t-thanks..." Chelsea nodded, smiling apprehensively. She stepped to the side of her horse, patting her side appreciatively.

Hearing the creak of old, weathered wood, she glanced over her shoulder. Vaughn had settled on one side of the cart's seat, raising an eyebrow as if to say "_Will you hurry up already?_" Taking the hint, she hopped up onto the opposite side, taking the reins.

"Hup!" Chelsea called out to her horse. She whinnied before taking off at a steady walk, hooves clip-clopping down the newly built roads. They sat in an awkward silence for several minutes, the horses ears folded back slightly, sensing the tension in the air.

"So..." Chelsea started, glancing at Vaughn.

"What?" He said in his usual monotone voice, not bothering to take his eyes from the road before them.

Chelsea bit her lip, taking a deep breath. "Why did you decide to come along?" She kept her eyes on her horse, watching her muscles rotate rhythmically underneath her skin. Several moments passed as she wondered if she had simply imagined voicing her question.

"I want to make sure that your cows are fine." Vaughn shifted, leaning against the small plank of wood behind their backs. Grasping the brim of his hat, he tilted it down over his eyes before folding his arms over his chest once more. "You said that they didn't like the old milker. They may have chapped or developed a rash." Unknowingly to Chelsea, Vaughn smiled cat-like to himself beneath his brim.

Sighing, Chelsea flicked the reins, signaling to her horse to speed up to a trot.


End file.
